


Child of the Stars

by yuffiehighwind



Series: Just a Little Roleplay [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-01
Updated: 2009-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Night Elf adventurer wonders if she has strayed from her heritage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Child of the Stars

I'm in a bar in Loch Modan sipping some honey mead when a dwarf approaches me. I look down, expecting another drunken come-on, when I see in his eye the gleam of wanderlust rather than the regular sort. He even meets my gaze, not stopping at my breasts. (Granted, my breasts are covered with chainmail, but my heritage protrudes proudly no matter how I strap them down.)

"You got a second, Night Elf?"

I just raise an eyebrow and, taking my drink, join him at a table across from the bar.

"I've got this scroll, see..."

And so he shows me. It's a riddle and a sort of map. The rumor is of a dig gone awry in the Badlands and untold treasures beneath the soil...

Have you got it, now? I'm an adventurer. I take "quests" for money and rewards - some noble, some not-so-much. Sometimes I collect the hides of fearsome creatures, and sometimes the extremities of trolls and orcs. Any enemy of the Alliance is my enemy, but any promise of gold perks my long ears and gets my legs moving. There's nothing I wouldn't do for pay.

When I found myself on the remnants of Draneor, called Outland, and when I boarded the ship from Stormwind Harbor to Northrend, the quests became more dangerous, more outrageous, some even horrifying. While I stick to honoring my ancestors, unfurling their flag and representing my home capital in tournaments, I still wonder if I have strayed from my path. I was raised by Sentinels, and was slated to become a Sentinel. I spent my entire youth (much longer a time than a human's youth) training and learning from these proud warrior women, until the day the Druids woke.

Teldrassil was made to cheat death. The legacy of the Great Tree at Mount Hyjal was corrupted, changed. We fought Archimonde, the Legion, and the Scourge. At least, my brothers and sisters fought them. I was to remain in the forest - the rear guard, pushing back the Warsong Clan and their destructive tree cutters.

When my brothers and sisters returned, I was told whisperings of the plan to grow a new Great Tree - one greater than the last. But it was not blessed. The oldest among us grew ill, their years crashing down one by one. A Night Elf knew for the first time what it was to be mortal.

But with the threat of the Horde and other misfortunes that befell our settlements in Kalimdor, the Night Elves, myself among them, emigrated to Teldrassil. Not blessed by Elune, the tree served at best an isolated island - a community where we could be protected from outside influence and harm. We could raise our children there, and our Druids could roam the Emerald Dream, encased safely in underground burroughs away from the corruption of demonic influence.

But this was not to be. The furbolgs we brought with us became possessed, and demons found their way to Teldrassil, settling in the caves and the minds of our former allies. Satyrs brought their evil influence, harpies built nests in the trees, and even the elementals themselves emerged from the lakes to commit violent acts upon any Night Elf who approached. The spiders and animals multiplied beyond their food supplies, attacked our settlements, and the island became a wilderness.

I was asked ** _-_** _asked_ \- by the elders to intervene. I started in the forest of Teldrassil, growing in strength and skill as I combatted the evils lurking in the trees. I walked to the city, where I was asked to deliver a package to the mainland, and there I was asked and asked again to fight. I moved across the land, took ships to the Eastern Kingdoms, crossed paths with alien races, and home seemed a distant memory. Ashenvale - region of my birth - had become a violent place, no longer a haven, and so I integrated myself into the Alliance community, and found myself sipping honey mead in dwarven bars lusting for gold.

When I find myself in Darnassus, it's a strange experience. There live young Night Elves, and the elders, and the armed forces who guard the city. Some ambassadors of the Alliance, and shopkeepers remain. Our high priestess, Tyrande Whisperwind, commands our people from the temple, and Arch Druid Fandral Staghelm issues his own contradicting orders from the Cenarian Enclave across the lake. 

Few people visit the city, except on holidays, and with ambassadors all over the two worlds, the Kaldorei are well-traveled, but still...

But still, I wonder if I have betrayed my brothers and sisters.

We who put faith in the Goddess; I who only believe that which I can see with my own two eyes.

We who let the past fade into memory; I who uncover mysteries best left alone for my dwarven allies.

We who keep ourselves composed, our emotions under strict control and minds at peace, and use violence only when threatened.

Me, who fights to breathe, lives to fight. Angry, sad, tormented, lost, drunk, high, tempting fate with every step into the fray. 

Am I a Night Elf anymore?

Or a very tall dwarf?


End file.
